The prince held the mirror up to his face, inspecting the changes.
“It’s not enough,” he said briskly.
“Not enough? Don’t be delusional, boy,” the witch cried out, offended, “No one will recognize you as the prince!”
“But they might recognize me as the King,” Damon retorted, “I look exactly like my father! I don’t want anyone to think I’m even related to the royals.”
The witch brought the green sea-glass spectacles hanging around her neck up to her eyes. The boy was right, he was the splitting image of the kingdom’s sovereign, down to the beard.
“Hm,” she grunted, “you’re right.”
“I’m willing to pay anything, money’s no object. Please, can you do anything?” Damon pleaded.
“Oh there won’t be any need for that. I am a woman of my word, and I promised to make you unrecognizable as a royal.”
The witch hobbled over to a curio cabinet full of satchels and bottles of all shapes and colors. She rummaged among the shelves, pulling this and that. Then, she began mixing her ingredients in a small glass flask. They shimmered and combusted in puffs of colored smoke as she mixed them, eventually settling into a green liquid.
“Here,” she handed the prince the potion, “this ought to do it.”
Damon took the flask in his large hands, and braced himself as he chugged its contents. However, there was no fever, no cracking bones, and no pain. He felt as if a gust of wind blew past him, and saw the changes occur in an instant.
His hair lost some of its curl and turned a bright copper red. His skin lost its olive undertone and took a pinker tint, freckles spread across his face like wildflowers. He dropped a few inches in height and felt his muscles grow some. He brought the mirror back up to his face.
The changes had been minor, but enough that the complete stranger looking back at Damon in the mirror grinned widely, crinkling his now gray eyes. In the place of the stern looking man the prince had been destined to grow into now stood a stout, strong looking, redheaded man. He looked like any peasant or merchant from the village, the prince thought to himself.
“Thank you! This is perfect!” He cried and gave the old witch a big bear hug.
“Woah there! You’re very welcome,” she pushed the prince away and chuckled, “but please, decency.”
Damon’s freckled cheeks turned bright red as he became aware of his nudity. He covered his groin with his hands and apologized profusely. The witch chuckled and handed him some clothes that fit his new frame and his new life.
Dressed in a simple tunic shirt, trousers, leather boots, and a woolen cape, Damon bid the witch goodbye, thanking her again, and mounted his horse.
He was surprised at how much easier it was to mount Sebastian with his new strength.
“Hyah!” he cried and started riding towards the setting moon.
Damon’s copper waves of hair whipped in the fresh night air behind him. He felt his portly belly jiggle with his stallion’s galloping. And for the first time in months, he laughed. A deep, hearty laugh full of joy and hope. He rode through woods and meadows under the starlight. He felt free, truly free. Damon didn’t know where he was going but he didn’t care. There was no one hovering over his shoulder, no advisors harping on about proper behavior and no stern father lecturing him about destiny. Under the full moon, Damon claimed his own destiny. He was a man now, and he was going to be his own man.
The moon began to dip behind the peaks of the far off mountains and Damon felt fatigue begin to settle over him.
He came to a stop in a breezy meadow, next to babbling brook. He pulled his bedroll off Sebastian’s back and plopped down on the soft ground, not even bothering to take off his boots. The horse settled down beside him, and under the sparkling night sky the trickling brooke lulled Damon to sleep.
“The first night,” he whispered sleepily to himself, “of my new life.”